The World Traveler
by The Giant Daifuku
Summary: Spinoffs and deleted scenes that did not make it into the World Traveler Series. Involves pranked skeletons, sneak peaks and more! The crossovers written with ElTangoDeRoxanne, dubbed "Eternally Cursed", has been moved to its own story of the same name.
1. Spare Ribs, Anyone?

The World Traveler is going to be a collection of deleted scenes and spinoffs that didn't exacly make the cut, or stuff I wanted to write in retrospect but didn't. This is under Misc. Movies because it includes ALL the movies mentioned in the series. Have fun!

Sooooooo this was a story mentioned in **Our War Torn Earth **where Vaan stole Balthier's ribs when he was a skeleton one night and was consequentially drowned. Almost drowned. I had a lot of fun writing this.

* * *

**Spare ribs, anyone?**

Balthier watched Fran, Penelo, and Vaan as they jogged across the Estersand, weapons and packs bouncing. They were bound for the Barheim Passage, hunting the rare Ithuno that dwelled within, but at the same time, they also had to carry some supplies from the Estersand Hunter's Camp to the North Bank. It was Vaan's fault— he offered to do the service for a pathetic amount of gil. The sky pirate glanced toward the sun, which was sinking toward the horizon and painting the sky red as blood. He had hoped with every shred of his nonexistent heart that they might reach the river camp by nightfall, and thus spare him the shame of his most horrifying secret revealed, but the gods had not smiled upon him and sent wave after wave of beasts that slowed them down. Then again, did the gods ever smile upon him? No, he did not think so.

The desert did not offer much protection from the moonlight, but for some spiny trees and dynast cacti that did not provide quite enough shade. Heaven knew how frightening he looked when _half _transformed into a skeleton while resting under the scattered shade of a tree, with mottled patches of tan skin and grey bone. Balthier realized that he had fallen behind, and increased his pace to catch up. As if sensing his train of thought, Fran dropped back from her brisk pace to walk with him.

"You are ill at ease," she said calmly.

"With Vaan around, am I ever at ease?" Balthier replied lightly.

"You are worried about your… condition. You do not want them to see."

"I am actually more afraid that I will be mistaken for some Rare Game that has come crawling out of the Barheim Passage by our dear orphans and blasted by Holy."

"You could warn them."

Balthier snorted. "What would I say? 'Vaan, Penelo, there is something I need to tell you. At night, I am actually an undead skeleton that looks a hell of a lot like a fiend, but I'm not here to kill you. Please don't hurt me.' Oh yes, that sounds _very_ reassuring."

"You will not die if you are hit by Holy." Fran said logically, but a memory of Barbossa just after Elizabeth had hit him with a Holy mote drifted to the surface of Balthier's mind.

"I would rather not be reduced to a bloody, broken smear on the Estersand dunes," he said. "Perhaps I should press ahead to the Barheim Passage?"

"I am not going to carry your bag of supplies across the Nebra." Fran said, crushing his hopes. "If it is any measure of comfort, I shall stay awake with you tonight to protect you from Vaan and Penelo." She slipped a ring off her finger, pressing it into his hand. "My Sage's Ring will allow you to absorb Holy Magick. If you are that frightened of Penelo, you can wear it."

"Protect me, eh? Shouldn't it be the other way around— the leading man protecting the leading lady?" Balthier asked, smirking.

"What makes you think I need protecting?" Fran teased.

"Saucy today, are we? I like it."

* * *

Penelo danced about in the sand gaily while Fran built the fire, kicking up the fine grains as she lifted her feet and whirled about. Sometimes, Balthier wondered what tune she danced to— whatever it was, he would never hear. The young girl's feet tossed up another plume of sand. Balthier wrinkled his nose distastefully. He had never liked sand; it got everywhere and made a journey _very_ uncomfortable, especially if it slipped under the waistband of his trousers. Now, when he became a skeleton as he did every night, if they were camping in the desert, sand got between his joints and into the holes in his worm eaten skin, grinding against his bones and generally working its way into every possible nook and cranny _inside _his body. No, Balthier Bunansa did not like sand— he loathed it.

Balthier spared a glance for the setting sun again. From a monstrous orb hanging low in the sky, it had become a tiny sliver peaking just above the rim of mountains to the west. It was almost time; he stood, stretching, and began to stroll away. "I'm going mark hunting, and for a bath. I'll be back later," he excused himself jauntily. Fran shook her head, tresses swaying, but did not stop him. Vaan jumped up.

"Can I come with you?" he asked, excitement shining in his eyes.

"No, I am afraid not. This hunt is especially scary for young children such as yourself." Balthier answered, praying Vaan would take the hint that he wanted to be _alone. _Sadly, Vaan was a failure when it came to taking subtle hints, and would likely not have noticed Balthier's desires unless the older sky pirate had slapped him in the face with them.

"Come _on_, Balthier! I'm not a little kid anymore— I'm not the naïve street thief that everyone has to look after."

"I suppose not; you're a naïve sky pirate that everyone has to look after— there, are you happy?" Balthier snapped.

"Not until you say I can go with you." Vaan moved to stand in his way, crossing his arms resolutely. Balthier looked passed him to see the silver shine of moonlight just behind a bank of moving clouds. He absolutely _had _to get out of there, and quickly. Luckily, Vaan did not know Holy, so if he _did _say the boy could come, the worst that could happen was an unfortunate beheading, right?

Right?

"If I say yes, will you move?" Balthier asked hopefully.

"Yes."

"Fine, you can come!" he brushed passed Vaan and made his way toward the old entrance to the Barheim Passage, the only place he could think of where there was actually some definitive shade. The Seeq and the Bangaa bandits that had been camped there were long gone once their leader had recovered, so Balthier could rest there without being bombarded by the bandits attempting to pass off their cheap, ill begotten goods. He sank into the darkness with a sigh, perching on a rock under the old archway. Vaan chose to sit just outside of it, plopping himself down on the sandy, tiled floor.

"Sooo," Vaan looked across the desert stretching before them, his eyes picking out the thin twist of smoke rising from their little camp in the distance. "What's the scary mark called? Where is it? How do we find it?"

Balthier made himself more comfortable on his seat of rocks. "The mark's name is Balthier, it's right in front of you, and you find it by looking five feet beyond the tip of your nose," he said with false cheer. Vaan blinked.

"You're hunting yourself? I mean— wow. I didn't know you could do that."

"I was joking." Balthier said flatly.

"Oh." Vaan tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I don't think you're very scary. Why did you say you were scary?" he asked.

Balthier chuckled darkly. "Not scared, you say? Vaan, can I tell you a secret? You can tell it to Penelo however you want, but just _tell _her, okay? I don't want to get attacked with Holy the moment she sees." Vaan blinked again, mouth opening in a noise construed as, _huh?_Balthier steeled himself, closing his eyes. "Perhaps it's easier if I showed you."

He stepped into the moonlight.

Vaan's reaction was admirable. He did not scream and run, nor did he pull a knife and attack. Instead, he swore powerfully enough to make Balthier proud and scrabbled backward over the dusty ground.

"How did you _do _that? Balthier, what are you?"

"Complicated, that's what I am." Balthier replied idly, crouching next to him, wincing as his knee joints creaked. To his credit, Vaan did not leap to his feet, but leaned forward, intrigued.

"Incredible!" he breathed. "That's amazing! I always thought you were cool, but this— I mean, whoa!" he held up a tentative hand. "Mind if I feel you up?"

"Dear good _gods_, you can bet I mind!" Balthier slapped the boy's hand down and stood quickly, his joints popping explosively. The older sky pirate scowled; all that creaking made him feel a thousand years old, not frozen at twenty-five. Vaan rubbed his hand ruefully.

"I didn't mean it like that," he snapped. "It's like Fran's ears— it's something you really want to touch, but you're not sure if you can."

"I assure you, touch Fran's ears, or any part of Fran without permission, for that matter, and you will find yourself without the capacity to bear children." Balthier purred. Vaan gulped. "But all you want to do is touch my bones? Harmless enough, I suppose. Watch where and how you put those grubby mitts of yours, though. I'm a gentleman sky pirate, not a midnight lover."

"Right," Vaan said, though he clearly did not know what that meant. He prodded at the scarred bones of Balthier's right hand, almost fascinated by the spider web cracks formed from ignorantly handling white magick, running his fingers over the thin film of torn flesh stretched over his arm. "This is kinda gross and really awesome at the same time."

"Thank you, now if you'll excuse me, I am going to take a bath. Sand gets everywhere into these damn bones and I hate it. Did you know the kings of old Dalmasca died because sand in their food ground their teeth away to nothing?" Balthier asked, trotting toward the river Nebra and removing his shirt. Vaan opened his mouth to reply but instead said,

"Whoa, you don't have any innards!"

"If course not, they would be outtards now." Balthier snorted.

"Does that mean you don't have a brain either?" Vaan asked.

"I don't _know_, idiot!" the skeleton snarled, knocking on Vaan's head with a clenched fist. "Do I look as if I can see in my head?"

"Do you—" Vaan began, but Balthier cut him off.

"Bah, enough questions! I am going to take a bath, and you can take one too while leaving me in peace, or you can go back to the camp. Either way involves you being _silent as the grave._" He made a point of unloading dueling pistols, hidden daggers, and throwing knives on top of the cleanest rock he could find, and Vaan gulped.

Balthier splashed into the river, grimacing at the cloud of brown mud that leaked out of all the holes in his skin. Yes, he did abhor sand, and the sooner he was back at the sand-_free _Strahl and in Fran's warm embrace, the better. Maybe there was some place where he could lay these old bones down and rest for the rest of eternity after Fran was gone, where nothing could get into them. The Salikawood? No, there was pollen and dirt. He wanted to rest, but he did not fancy a tree growing out of him when he decided to move on. The Phon Coast? No— there was sand, and salt water did wonders for breaking down corpses with the amounts of bacterium in it. Archades, the Wreck of Bahamut, Golmore, and Giruvegan were crossed off the list immediately. He doubted the Viera wanted their forest polluted with his deathly stench anyway. Now, the Necrohal of Nabudis— that was a thought. The upward reaches were open to the sky, and the ancient palace was filled with unmapped passages where he could roam.

_You'll be with your own kind_, a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered. _You can all be zombie friends together. _Balthier rubbed his (nearly) fleshless face with his bony fingers. That was _not_ a thought he liked, being compared to other undead creatures. A quiet snapping sound broke him out of his reverie. Was there something nibbling on him? He looked down and swore emphatically. Four of his ribs were missing.

"Well I'll be damned; ribs don't just grow legs and run off," Balthier muttered, looking around. The bones of his neck crunched unpleasantly, and he raised a hand to rub at his neck before realizing that there was a _hand_ in his ribcage, plucking out more ribs. "_Vaan! What in Heth's name are you doing?_"

Vaan was out of the river and up the beach before Balthier could grab at him. Cursing loud enough to wake the dead, the sky pirate wrenched his shirt over his head, fumbled with his vest, and grabbed several throwing knives and two dueling pistols before bounding up the slight dune after Vaan.

It was easy to track the young boy through the Estersand, but when the tracks entered the river camp, Balthier stopped, curling his toes inside his shoes as he thought. Vaan had been smart— he chose a crowded area of dwellings where, as he was, Balthier could not follow. He looked at the moon, relieved to see a cloud was coming. There was only one entrance to the camp, and the ferry had stopped running for the night. Balthier could bide his time, but he feared that his ribs could not. He sincerely hoped that Vaan was only pranking him, and not doing something stupid…

One of the curved bones fell in front of him, and he dove for it, but too late. A wolf cub came bounding out of the camp, snatching the bone from his hands and bowling him over. When Balthier shook the stars out his eyes, he was greeted with the image of the cub happily chewing the bone to splinters. "Oh no…"

"No, boy, you're supposed to fetch it, not eat it!" Vaan complained, trailing after the cub. Balthier took the opportunity to leap on top of him, straddling his chest.

"_Vaan, you piece of chocobo dung!_" he roared, shoving a dueling pistol into the boy's mouth. "Don't tell me you've fed my ribs to that wolf pup!"

"Ngah ungh mn ngh hn!" Vaan whimpered, twisting under him. Balthier cursed the fact that, as a skeleton, he only weighed half as much as he did when he was human. Vaan was just about to throw him when the cloud covered the moon— Balthier's weight doubled as skin, flesh, and organs reformed, and Vaan's breath whooshed out.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't understand that. Care to say it again?" the pirate snarled.

"That was the last one!" Vaan screamed. Balthier blinked in disbelief.

"You mean to say, that you have stolen six ribs, and fed _all six_ of them to a wolf cub?"

"Yes! I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't resist, it was the prank to end all pranks!" Vaan wept. Balthier sighed, sliding off Vaan's chest and crouching miserably in the sand, painfully aware that he was missing six ribs and that there was a pebble wedged between his tarsal bones. If the moon did not come back out soon, he would take a dagger and dig it out, it irked him so. The wolf cub sniffed at him happily, wagging its tail.

"No more for you," Balthier said, scratching it behind the ear. "But I've got something for _you_." He smiled evilly and grabbed Vaan by the collar of his shirt, hauling him over his shoulder and marching toward the river, unceremoniously dumping the boy in and whistling to the wolf cub. It barked joyously and bounded in, splashing on top of Vaan and tussling with him in the water. The boy yelled as the wolf stepped in places wolf's paws need not go, but Balthier simply smirked wider and waded out of the shallows, trudging back to their camp.

* * *

"I take it went very well." Fran said as Balthier sat down in a puddle of moonlight to dig the pebble out of his foot. The heat of the fire began to dry his waterlogged skin, steam rising from the ragged holes.

"Why not? I have returned in mostly one piece, sans a quarter of my ribs." He shrugged, nodding to Penelo, who smiled back.

"Would you like me to heal you?" Fran asked.

"That would be heavenly." Balthier tugged his shirt off, and the Viera traced a finger glowing with Dark along the broken nubs of bone. He had to resist the purr rising in his throat as his body was filled with the pleasant, healing sensation that ironically accompanied the offensive spell. As his ribs regenerated, Vaan came staggering back into the camp, covered in wolf bites and cactaur needles. Penelo laughed, a high, silver chiming sound.

"I suppose you'll be wanting a healing, too?" she asked. Vaan nodded solemnly.

"I'll never look at skeletons the same way again. Especially that one." He jabbed a finger at Balthier accusingly. The sky pirate grinned viciously as the sun began to peek over the horizon, returning to him his flesh.

"I will remember that for future pranking references." He said, while Vaan groaned in horror.


	2. The Sound of Madness: Preview

So, here is the preview to **The Sound of Madness **that I promised **Tango-chan**, which is my Soul Eater/ Final Fantasy XII crossover. It is a continuation of the World Traveler Series; I loved it too much to stop. This is a very short preview... but it serves its purpose. I hope you like it! Thanks to **emeraldonyxdragon** for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Balthier sat by the window of the _Strahl_, the window open and the cool Phon Coast wind blowing on his face. It was midnight, and Fran was asleep in her bunk, curled under a quilt, her nose twitching in her sleep. On the small table, a slightly wilted rose rested in a chipped mug of water, perfuming the salty sea air with its scent. This was the rose Lightning left at his grave during the little "incident" involving his "death" by hanging; he'd begged Fran to cast the most powerful Slow spell she could upon it to slow it's passing. So far, a year later, the lush petals were only a little wrinkled about their edges. In the moonlight, the rose, red as phoenix feathers, looked almost blue.

"Dark blue; the color of death." Penelo whispered from behind him, her pale grey lips almost touching his ear. Her skin was the color of snow, her eyes black as the darkest reaches of the sea. Balthier reached forward to touch the rose with a finger; when his skin encountered the moonlight, he choked in terror.

Bones. Hard, grey bones with patches of filmy, rotted skin stretched over them here and there, caressed the soft petals. Balthier quickly retracted his hand from the moonlight, staring as it was covered in tawny flesh again.

"No…" he breathed, thrusting both hands into the light again. He bit his lip, hard, feeling his own cold blood rush into his mouth. His senses were clogged by the stench of copper and the salty, bitter taste, but the pain of the bleeding cut was real. He was not dreaming. It was back.

The curse was back.

"_Fran,_" he only had to speak her name and she was awake, sitting up in the bunk and looking at him with an appalled expression.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she breathed as he stood, silhouetted by the light pouring in from the window. "This… why? Calypso's spell should have stopped this from happening!"

Balthier looked out the window, pulling his shirt off as he did so to examine the medallion suspended in a knot of decaying flesh. Its luster was gone, the sharp edges no longer defined. "The spell is gone." A dead crab washed up on the shore, and Balthier's sharp, sharpshooter's eyes did not fail to see it. "Calypso is dead. It must be… that no one believes in her anymore. The time of the gods on Earth has passed."

"Did it not pass long ago? When the machines from Earth went rampant in Ivalice?"

"Will was still there, as was Jack, but… I fear that, with Calypso's passing, the time of the _Dutchman_ is over." Balthier pulled the curtains shut, and there was a quiet squelch as his appearance resumed to be that of a normal Hume's. He grimaced at the sound.

"We will find a way to remedy this, Ffamran." Fran tried to reassure him, but her words were hollow. Balthier felt his blood run cold; not even Fran, his wise, all-knowing Fran, knew what to do.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the cockpit. They shared a look. Bounty hunters? Silently making their way down the hall and toward the control room, they peered past the curtain and into the cockpit.

The window was shattered, and a girl stood there, brushing herself off. She wore a short, tartan skirt and a long black coat, almost like a robe, but it revealed short, slender legs. Balthier's eyes traveled up her legs, appreciating the view, before resting on her face. She was _young_, no older than fifteen, if he had to guess. She wore her hair in two pigtails that would have been quite adorable if one was into that sort of thing. However, this gentle, school-girl appearance was offset by the large, black and red scythe she carried in her white-gloved hands. When she finished brushing herself off, she caught sight of them, and Balthier found himself at the business end of her weapon. Judging by the way she held it, she was no amateur at using it, either. Despite his predicament, the girl's announcement nearly made him laugh.

"Kishin, prepare yourself! In the name of Lord Death, I have come to collect your soul!"


	3. Whose Dream is it, Anyway?

This is the Alice spinoff I was thinking about... it's wierd. And it has spoilers for what happens post Sound of Madness, and Eternally Cursed, so BE WARNED!

So in terms of Chronology, this happens post Eternally Cursed. Lightning is gone and Fran is somewhere else, and this is what happens if Balthier is completely alone. It's really creepy, and the type of narrative used in the Balfonheim scenes with random insets of people talking or disembodied events was inspired by the book Pedro Paramo. It's a good book, but takes more than one read to get through; still, HIGHLY recommended! There are references to Lightning (motif: roses) and Fran (implied) but... it's just wierd.

I own NOTHING!

* * *

Alice sighed, looking down at the bureau filled with papers and business forms. She was sick of signing the papers; day after day after day, she would pick up her pen and scrawl the same name over and over and over again. _Alice Kingsleigh. Alice Kingsleigh. Alice_...

She set the pen down with clack and set the newly endorsed document aside. When she'd decided to start this business proposal with Hamish's father, this hadn't been in her mind at all. She was young and full of new ideas, and she thought that in Underland she may have gained some of the strength to do follow her own heart.

"I suppose this means I was not strong enough," Alice murmured, shaking her head and setting her wavy blonde tresses swaying. Outside the office window, it was raining. Water splashed off the gutters and pattered on the windowpane like fingers rapping on the glass. Alice dimmed the desk lamp, pale fingers standing out against the deep mahogany wood of the lamp stand, and left the room for the night.

* * *

When she returned the next morning, the window was open, the curtains blowing slightly in the restless breeze wandering through the room like a trapped animal. Alice's eyes swept around the room, searching for any signs of the intruder, before slamming the window shut and ensuring that the thief had removed nothing from the chamber. Alice collapsed into the stern black chair that had come to claim her in her course of work, relieved that nothing was missing. However, an envelope on the table caught her attention; made of a strange sort of stationary she had never seen before. The wax seal was a rich, venetian red, and so fresh that the slightly wetter patches of wax glinted like blood in the soft light of the lamp. A very decorative letter was pressed into the seal, but it was a language or symbol Alice was unfamiliar with. The contents of the letter were even stranger.  
"Curious..." Alice whispered.

_Use not your eyes,  
They __deceive you.  
Use not your ears,  
They betray you.  
Use not your thoughts,  
They mislead you._

All that you see with your eyes is a lie, Alice.  
Deerborne Alley, Noon, precisely.  
Try not to be late, my dear.

She glanced at the clock. There was an hour before the appointment with the mysterious intruder, so she had plenty of time to report the break in...  
Alice instead left early to take a leisurely walk to Deerborne Alley, a dead end street full of empty shops. It had been quite the sight in older days, she had heard, with lights and signs that glowed brilliantly in the night. Those were times of gaiety and joy; but the alley had fallen on hard times, and now spiders strung their cobwebs between the faded signs.

Noon.

A single ray of sun shone through the clouds onto the manhole in the middle of the empty square, the light dancing on the rusted circle like fire on water. The light was bent, much like the way Alice had seen professors in London bend light with glass rods and triangles. Curious, she stepped into the dancing ray of sun, and found herself swept away in a blast of wind.

* * *

Alice stumbled out of another alley in a different city, the walls made of crumbling masonry and the street of rotting boards that might break any moment and send her plunging into the sea hissing below. It was dark, but for the twinkle of stars shining in the moonless sky. A single streetlight shed its weak, guttering light in a wavering circle below, and Alice crept toward the light, seeking safety within the insubstantial glow.

Like a ghost in the night, he appeared, materializing out of the darkness, the shadows clinging to him as if reluctant to let him go. Pale silver eyes in a gaunt, bloodless face regarded her with hunger, sorrow, pain, and joy, rolling together like a restless wind. There was curiosity too, as an icy hand, white as milk and thin as bone touched her face uncertainly, as if to assure its owner that the girl was indeed there.

"Balthier... is that you?" Alice whispered, reaching up to grip the frail hand that was just about to withdraw back into the shadows.  
The man, barely more than a shell of himself, smiled and nodded, opening his mouth as if he would speak, but the voice that came from his throat seemed as if it came from the sky, miles and miles away.

_Alice..._

The wraith like apparition emerged from the shadows more, venturing into the light, eyes darting like a hunted animal.

…_Alive?_ The question came haltingly as the pale shadow examined her carefully, searching for any sign that she was anything but alive.

"I am, very much so. I wish I could say the same to you." Alice murmured, taking in Balthier's sickly appearance.

_Nothing to live for; no reason to die. Just… exist._

When the flickering streetlight went out as the flaming disk of the sun rose, he vanished back into what remained of the darkness, as if the light caused him to evaporate, leaving her alone in the city. Wandering the empty streets, Alice fancied she heard the morose melody of bells and harps echoing in the still, salty air, but listening to the silence, she decided she must have been imagining it. Still, emerging from the deserted city into the brown, rolling cliffs of the steppes where the town was perched, she thought that there was a sad, muffled chime echoing in the wet air.

The steppes were almost as empty as the town, though strange creatures and lovely flowers filled the cliffs. It was the distinct lack of human life that made the plains so eerie. The windmills in the distance were like ships with slack sails, trapped on a frozen, rolling brown sea. Eventually, in the shadow of one of the great, trapped ships, Alice came across a small camp of two young, travelling warriors, who welcomed her to their camp.

"Do you venture to Balfonheim?" one of the knights asked politely, gesturing her to sit near him in the shade.

"I just came from that direction," she replied. "The crumbling city by the sea."

"It is said it was quite the glorious place, back in the day. It was a pirate town; quite colorful, I heard," another knight, a young woman with straight blond hair draped over one shoulder, exclaimed. The first shook his head.

"Not anymore. A ghost wanders the streets at night, vanishing into the air the moment the sun shines its first holy rays over the horizon. We of the Holy Order mean to vanquish the spirit. It has become dangerous to wander these steppes; the ghost often appears in the night and makes off with members of caravans traversing the trade route."

Alice looked toward the town in the distance, the spires of dilapidated buildings like desperate clawed fingers reaching for the sky. It was a pity that the city seemed so dead; the steppes were blooming with life.

"I think I will go back to the city now," Alice said, rising to her feet.

"You will not stay? You may not return alive. It is said the ghost partakes of human flesh."

"I will be fine." Alice smiled; but she was not certain.

The sky pirate was mad, madder than the mad hatter.

As she passed the crumbling buildings on her way back to the weak streetlight, she heard the murmuring behind her.

* * *

Just like the night before, the pale, gaunt phantom appeared from the darkness, quietly materializing just outside the ring of light.

_Good morning, Alice._

"Good evening, Balthier. Did you sleep well?"

He did not answer, only smiled that queer smile that said nothing and everything at once before he vanished into the night again. Alice stepped toward the place he had been standing, out of the light, and found him next to her elbow, offering her his arm. She took it, feeling the deathly cold limb tense slightly at her touch.

"There are two knights outside the city, and they claim they have come for your head."

Balthier smiled and closed his eyes, amused, but when he opened them, they gleamed with steely light.

"I don't want you to kill them. They may think you are a monster with only a human shape to brag of, but I _know_ you, before you became like this. Mercy may convince them to let you be."

Balthier only raised her hand to his cold lips and kissed the back of it, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than it seemed necessary. She imagined that when his laughing eyes glanced at her again, hunger danced within the silver flames, but he looked away then, and she could not stop a shiver from creeping up her spine. Behind her, the city murmured like a sighing woman.

"I received a letter from you—"

He shook his head.

"No, not from you? Either way, it brought me here, and I really think I must be getting back now. Can you help me?"

_Cannot…even help myself… cannot think of aught else… but her…_

"_There were flees in the mattress, girl,_" the rough voice of a sea-hand snarled._ "I want my money back._"

"_There warn't no flees in the mattress,_" came the sweet, honeyed answer of a tavern wench._ "I ain't givin' anything back._"

"Her?" Alice muttered, peering into the empty, dilapidated tavern as they passed it. Lip curling disdainfully, Balthier shook his head again.

"When the day comes—when you leave, where do you go?" she asked.

They stopped before an old building with a collapsed roof, and Balthier nodded toward the darkened maw of the entrance.

"_I'll take the money out o' yer hide, missy!_"

Alice listened to the silent voices, while the murmurs continued.

"There it is! Hurry!" These voices were real; the two knights had found them.

"My lady, stand aside! We have come to slay the ghost!" the male knight called. Alice gasped and looked up at Balthier, but a wild, savage light had entered his eyes. In a heartbeat, he had shaken her from his arm with more strength then she could imagine; in a second heartbeat, there was a breath of wind at her shoulder and the male knight crashed to the ground on the other side of the street; a third heartbeat, the female knight screamed. Then it was silent, but for the drip of blood on the boards of the street, as he pressed his face to her neck in a grotesque kiss. The knight was limp in his arms; Alice's heart gave one more frightened, painful beat, and they were gone into the shroud of night, only the male knight remaining on the ground. He stirred, groaning, and Alice ran to his side.

"Adelaide…" the knight groaned. "He took Adelaide. We were partners for seven years…"

"If we don't move, you will be quick to join her," Alice whispered fiercely, helping the knight rise. His head was bleeding profusely from a cut just above his eye, and Alice brought him quickly to the weak streetlight. It seemed that the light's sad, white circle was the only thing that could stop the creature Balthier had become; it was afraid of the light, only dreaming of entering the brightness.

"It will follow the scent of my blood. It will come for me…"

"May I ask your name?" Alice interrupted him, searching his pack until she found something that looked like antiseptic and gauze.

"Nestor."

"_Life! I am too good for you!_" The shadow of dangling feet, swinging slightly in the nonexistent breeze, rocked back and forth in the light splashing faintly onto the wall.

There was the sound of a gay party, violins and accordions playing in the town square, but it was empty.

* * *

The day dawned quietly, and Alice awoke with a snort. Nestor was still there, sleeping fitfully against the light post, and Balthier, of course, was nowhere in sight. Leaving a hastily written note to Nestor that she would be back, Alice wandered back into the city, listening to the indistinct murmurs. When she arrived at the building with the broken roof, she pushed her way inside.

There were bones everywhere. Piled upon each other, skulls stacked on skulls, each type of bone Alice had ever seen neatly sorted and piled around the periphery of the room, down to the tiny bones at the ends of fingers and toes. A rosebush with wilted leaves and flowers had twined its way through the bones, toward the light streaming through the destroyed roof, and Alice found a bucket full of water by a huge knot of roots. However, the roots were as dry as the bones themselves, so she emptied the bucket over the thirsty plant. Something shifted behind her, and she whirled to find Balthier.

In the harsh light of day, he looked even more emaciated than before, but his lips and cheeks were rosy with stolen blood, and his thin hands, brushing against her arms as he assured himself she was real, were almost as warm as a newt. He even seemed to have regained some of his tanned appearance, but his pale silver eyes were still as dull as before.

_The city is full of whispers._

Alice jumped at the sound of his voice, thin and weak. She did not see his lips move, but she knew that it was his voice.

_The night is full of ghosts._

His eyes darted, searching the corners of the room for things she could not see. His hands worried his sleeves, and Alice, remembering the day on the balcony at Marmoreal, took his hands in her own, to stop him from ripping at the faded embroidery. His long fingers curled about her own convulsively.

_They follow me and will not let me go. When I leave I hear them screaming for me to return and hear their stories._

He was talkative today; Alice realized. Talkative and mad.

_Listen to their stories, Alice. _

Balthier dropped to the ground, pressing his ear to the floor, his eyes closed. Alice listened to the silence. It felt as if something furry brushed against her legs, the whisper of silent feathers echoing in the stillness.

_I am of the night, and I fear the night. The night is full of phantoms, full of ghosts. And I must listen, for my hands do not block the sound__... I cannot cover my eyes… Listen until the night turns to day and they fade… we fade… until the voices die…_

His crazed eyes snapped open, and in a flurry of motion, he was on his feet again, standing by the mountain of unsorted bones, feverishly sorting.

_If I sort the bones… If I make it easier for them to find their bodies… maybe, they will leave me alone._

Alice left him alone in the sunlit room, alone with the ghostly voices and the bones he believed would bring him salvation, and wandered away into the ruined city to find Nestor. The echoes of children laughing rang in her ears. And his whispers, like the ghosts in the city:

_When you die, tell the gods I did my best. Put in a good word for me, Alice. _

* * *

Nestor had recovered sufficiently by nightfall that he could leave the city; he whispered words of revenge, but Alice persuaded him that it would be best to leave.

"_He just scared me, that's all. I don't think he meant to kill me, just give me a scare._"

Alice mustered her courage; as soon as they stepped into the darkness, they would see Balthier's pale outline slinking like a hungry wolf through the street, seeking something else to eat and fill his empty heart.

"_He said something about a woman. I said I hadn't seen her._"

When she led Nestor into the night, Balthier was not there, nor did she see him at all in the city. At least, not until they entered the moonlit steppes. A baby was crying somewhere nearby.

A black tangle of bramble bushes filled with sharp thorns rustled loudly. Alice jumped, but Nestor went toward it.

"Do you hear the child crying, Lady Alice?" he asked, peering into the thick bush.

"Yes," Alice replied, spotting a shape wriggling near the bottom of the plant. When she bent down, silver eyes in a rotten, gray-skinned face stared back. There was the muffled sound of a sobbing baby coming from somewhere nearby.

The skeleton was squirming madly, trapped by the long thorns and thin branches that tangled in its ribcage and the frayed fabric of its vest. Alice imagined that there was a frustrated expression on its face as it struggled to get free, but there was terror in its eyes as well. It growled quietly, a noise more appropriate for lions or large wildcats, and hissed when Nestor began to draw his sword.

"Stay your sword," Alice whispered fiercely, but Nestor shook his head.

"It is trying to take a child, Lady Alice. As a knight of the Holy Order, I cannot allow it."

At this, the skeleton's wriggling increased, but it was caught fast, and it went still, a frustrated whine escaping its lacerated throat. The baby nearby made a snuffling hiccup, followed by an atrocious smell. The skeleton's eyes went wide, and it began fighting to get free of the bush again. Alice judged that the baby had relieved itself somewhere nearby. Gently disentangling the branches from the skeleton, she helped it up, and it emerged from the brambles, dragging the baby with it.

… _Heard it crying and went to help… but the moon came out and turned me…_"I got stuck_._"

She heard his voice—was it but a dream? Balthier sounded embarrassed as he quickly brushed dirt and leaves out of his clothes and combed twigs out of his matted hair with fingers of bone.

"Where is its mother?" Alice asked, glancing about. Balthier's eyes darted toward a ditch nearby, where the torn corpse of a woman lay.

"Couerls did this; that is the mark of their claws." Nestor observed. "It was trying to help the child? A scrap of humanity remains in it yet?"

_Young in life… does not belong in a place of the dead._ Balthier huddled under a tree, hidden from the moonlight and adopting his human appearance once more.

_They scream and weep; laugh and whisper. In this place, where the dead things are. All is ash. All is night. I cannot see the day. It is dark and I am blind._

"It cannot be thus, Balthier. Why do you mourn?"

Balthier rocked back and forth, eyes darting.

_The rose is dying and I cannot revive it. It was folly, the dead cannot sustain the living. _

"Balthier, it is not true! You simply refuse to see any life! You are trapped in a cage of your own making! Come, tomorrow I will prove that there is yet life! You saved a child, Balthier! And now you say that all is dead?"

Balthier rocked back and forth, then bolted into the night.

"Stop running, you foolish pirate!" Alice shrieked, while the baby cried in Nestor's arms.

* * *

Nestor had continued north for the cities and civilization with the child, while Alice chose to remain in the crumbling pirate town with the whispers and hissing sea. Salt and water was heavy in the air, like tears that would not dry. She visited Balthier's lair, and found the remains of Adelaide's armor, but guessed Balthier must have already sorted her bones. He was nowhere to be found, but when she stepped out of the building, he was waiting outside, a tall, thin outline in the noonday sun. He was staring out to sea, eyes unfocused, a tear sliding toward his chin. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and seawater, while grey clouds promising rain boiled on the horizon.

"Come, Balthier. I want to show you something."

He turned toward her like a lost child, and she could almost sense him drinking her scent and, when he leaned forward to kiss her hand, her warmth, too. His lips were cold again, but when she began to move toward the outskirts of the town, he followed her quietly, footsteps inaudible.

She was walking with a ghost.

They left the city behind and went into the steppes, where the flowers were blooming and Couerls roamed. Dragons soared overhead, and butterflies danced away from walking, crowned flowers. Birds twittered madly in the trees, perpetually in shades of flaming autumn. A crisp wind began to blow; Alice could smell the clean scent of the rain that had come to wash the distant city clean, and knew that if she could smell it, so could he. When she looked back, he was crouched by a flower that was blood red and rimmed with white, like lace.

Then he let out a delicate sneeze. Blinking, he proceeded to sneeze several more times, swiftly procuring a handkerchief, then grumbled something under his breath. Alice swiftly moved toward him.

"Did you say something?" she whispered, kneeling next to him and grabbing his hand. He grinned sunnily, despite the drops of rain that began to fall.

"I said, 'It's been so long since I've been around these, I'd forgotten I was allergic to them.' Hear me now?"

Alice had to hold back the urge to wrap her arms around him, but that was rather hard when he lazily draped an arm about her shoulders, using his other hand to cover a cat-like yawn.

"I feel like I just woke up after a long sleep," he sighed, looking over the cliffs where the Couerls roamed, hunting for easy prey. "Can hardly remember what I've been doing all this time…"

"I am glad you are awake," Alice said quietly. "I was quite afraid you were lost. I received a letter that took me here, you see. It must have been to help you."

"Really, now? Might I see this letter?"

Alice handed it to him, watching his brows furrow as he read it.

"Mm… this looks like that white rabbit's handwriting. What was his name? McTwisp? I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to go to Underland next and cheer up the Hatter." Balthier raised his head to the rain, letting the droplets patter on his face.

"Can hardly remember what I've been doing all this time," he repeated. "I just heard voices and remember being lonely and afraid."

"Why don't you leave? You could come back to Earth with me. It would be easy enough for you to blend in. You are not the Dodo, or McTwisp. You could easily adapt to life there." Alice suggested.

"I am not human, Alice. I… you have seen me at my worst. What a plague you would be unleashing on your world!" Balthier answered. Alice felt a stab of regret; was he so lost? Nevertheless, he was correct; the curse she would be releasing into the night was unthinkable.

"There was a woman," Balthier began quietly. "Her name was Lightning. She me reminded me an awful lot of you. She was strong, and most curious. Slaying dragons and Bandersnatch…" he grinned again.

"Do you really think me as strong as that?" Alice asked, resting her head against his chest. There was no heartbeat; only silence. Balthier gave a feline purr, seemingly happy despite the fact that they were getting soaked by warm rain.

"Not the first time I have heard that, Princess." He blinked. "I forgot to water my rose…"

"I did. Besides, it's raining now."

"Shall we go back?"

"Why?"

"That is a wonderful question."

They went back anyway, but unlike before, Balthier was much more energetic, his footsteps brisk as they tapped over the cobblestone street. The scent of roses was heavy in the air, overpowering the salt, and when they entered his home, the sight of blooming roses greeted them.

Blue, purple, red, yellow, pink. Petals showered to the ground, obscuring the skulls and bones, piling on the ground like snow. Balthier whistled.

"Is this what I was waiting for?" he muttered, watching the roses bloom. His eyes roved over the skulls and bones. "The Madness… was that what he was doing?"

The city was silent as they left; Balthier having decided it might be in his best interests (for his own and his sanity) to move on from the haunted city and find somewhere else to live. He said he considered going back to Golmore, where he may be able to see _her_ again (who _she_ was, Alice would never know).

As they walked, Balfonheim crumbled into the sea, and Balthier stopped to watch the city disintegrate into the waves.

"Where do you think they went?" he asked suddenly.

"Who?"

"The ghosts."

Alice was silent.

"Do you think they have told the gods? Have they told them what I have done?"

She could not answer.

_Alice, when you die, tell the gods I did my best. Put in a good word for me._

He was looking at her with that odd expression again.

"No matter," he shook his head. "I have something for you." Reaching into one of his belt pouches, he handed her a broken piece of a mirror. "It is an enchanted looking-glass, but there is not much magic in it left, nowadays. Perhaps it has one more use left. You can use it to go home, or to Underland. Where will you go?"

She met her own eyes. _Where will I go?_ She wondered, wondering, wandering through the mirror.

* * *

Alice emerged into her office, wondering why she had come there.

_She was strong and most curious._

Alice sat down at the desk.

_Alice Kingsleigh._ Was it a dream?

_Alice Kingsleigh_. She could smell roses.

_Alice Kingsleigh_. Was she really as strong as all that?

_Alice…_

_Kingsleigh._

* * *

So for clarification in the Balfonheim scenes: The city is completely deserted. The bells and harps Alice hears is the Madness singing, and the shadow that hung itself was not Balthier. The voices that are physically talking are ghosts, but for the scenes where Balthier is "speaking" in a more disembodied, disconnected way.


End file.
